


Little Moments

by iam93percentstardust



Series: A Legend Anew [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Deleted Scenes, I started off after this story, M/M, POV Alternating, Pre-Relationship, Slow Build, but let's be real, so you knew the angst happened anyway, there is no angst here, until the last line so sorry for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 21:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17373431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iam93percentstardust/pseuds/iam93percentstardust
Summary: Thorin was not impressed with Bilbo Baggins. He wasn't impressed when he first met him and he certainly wasn't impressed when he fainted upon hearing about the dragon. He was nothing but glad when Mister Baggins told Gandalf that he was definitely not joining them on their quest.He doubted they would ever see Mister Baggins again.





	Little Moments

**Author's Note:**

> I am surprised that none of you have asked about what happened during Smaug's attack considering that I've hinted to it a couple of times but here, have it anyway.

Thorin was not impressed.

When Gandalf had first suggested the necessity of a burglar on their quest, Thorin had been somewhat excited. After all, a burglar made their quest a reality instead of a dream. He wasn’t entirely certain what he had been expecting- perhaps someone nimble fingered and agile and stealthy like Nori (though Nori would never work, as Smaug almost certainly remembered the smell of dwarf). Maybe even someone a little dashing though that was more of a fool’s hope brought on by Thorin’s lengthy solitude.

Bilbo Baggins, however, was not what he’d been expecting.

Oh there was no denying that Baggins was probably agile and stealthy enough or Gandalf wouldn’t have suggested him. And, Thorin grudgingly admitted, he was even marginally attractive with his curly hair and adorable twitching nose.

But Baggins was also wearing a brightly colored dressing gown that didn’t quite hide the softness of his stomach. His voice was a little too high-pitched, unable to hide the nervousness that was overtaking him at the thought of dwarves in his peaceful home. There was also, of course, the fact that he fainted when he heard about the dragon.

No, Bilbo Baggins was wholly unsuitable just to be thrown out into the wilderness and even more unsuitable to serve as Thorin’s burglar.

Gandalf would have to find another one, a task that would be easier if Gandalf would just accept that Baggins would not work out. But the wizard seemed convinced that Baggins was the one and was now trying to convince Baggins himself of the very fact.

“Furnace with wings?” Kíli asked Bofur. “That’s a good one. Mister Boggins is definitely going to want to come with us now.”

“I was just trying to help,” Bofur replied. “Didn’t see you trying anything.”

Thorin waved for them to be silent as he tried to listen in on the conversation between Baggins and Gandalf. They paid him no heed however, their voices becoming louder as the argument grew more heated. So he instead crept around the corner to lurk outside the other side of the sitting room. Balin was already there. He gave Thorin a quick headshake.

“It’s not going well,” he whispered.

Thorin listened more intently as Baggins asked if Gandalf could guarantee that he would come back. He wanted to laugh. Of course, Gandalf couldn’t guarantee such a thing. They would be lucky to even make it to the mountain, let alone return. Their burglar, who would be sent alone to face the dragon, had even less chance of making it out alive.

Gandalf was far more tactful than that but it didn’t seem to matter to Baggins who quietly refused the contract. A moment later, he could hear Baggins stand and retreat to his bedroom.

“It would appear we’ve lost our burglar,” Balin said heavily.

Thorin sighed. He didn’t want Baggins with them on the quest but it seemed like a bad omen for them to be losing members so early. No matter. They would have to make do with thirteen members.

He doubted they would ever see Bilbo Baggins again.

 

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But Baggins was more stubborn than Thorin could ever have anticipated, more adventurous and certainly pettier. He chased after the Company, leaving behind everything he’d ever known to travel with them. Thorin should have known then that Baggins was made of sterner stuff than he’d thought but his mind had been colored by that terrible first impression. He refused to see him as anything other than the soft halfling he’d met in Bag End.

He knew that Baggins had managed to impress quite a bit of the rest of the Company. Nori had begun teaching him some of the thievery and tricks he’d learned in his many years spent dodging the law. Bombur, impressed by Baggins’ willingness to forego the customary seven meals a day that most hobbits were accustomed to, had requested his assistance with the cooking more than once. Bofur had liked Baggins from the start and the two had become fast friends after Bofur had told him that he’d been betting on Baggins following them. Thorin’s own nephews were in awe of the hobbit, partially because of the way he’d handled the trolls and partially because they’d never seen a hobbit before. Even Dwalin, so difficult to please, had taken Baggins aside during their first day in Rivendell to start teaching him how to use the little sword he had.

Privately, Dwalin had told Thorin that the sword lessons were not going well. In the past, Dwalin had trained Frerin, Fíli, and Kíli in the use of the sword though he was better with an axe. He had expected that, with so much experience, training Baggins would be just as easy. But the dwarves were used to weapons and the art of war, far different than the gardening tools Baggins had grown up with.

“He just doesn’t get it,” Dwalin growled. Thorin nodded sympathetically. “I’ve been working with him a week and we’ve just gotten to ‘the pointy end goes in the other person.’” Thorin snorted.

All in all though, Baggins was settling in just fine with the rest of the Company and that irritated Thorin beyond belief. Did no one remember that most of them had thought that Baggins had no place on this journey? Did they not recall that even Baggins himself had protested his inclusion in the Company? Did they forget how it had been Baggins’ fault they had been captured by trolls? The hobbit was clearly an unskilled, unworthy burglar. He was a danger to himself, to the Company, and to their quest but no one seemed willing to say anything to him.

It was clearly up to Thorin to ensure that Baggins returned home, where he belonged.

The opportunity came in the middle of the Misty Mountains. Thorin was beginning to fear that he had waited too long. He could only imagine how treacherous the return to Rivendell would be with orcs and goblins lurking in the caves of the mountains. He began to think that he should perhaps just allow Baggins to go with them but then Baggins slipped off the path.

Thorin’s heart lurched fearfully. He may not have liked the hobbit but he didn’t want to see him dead. Signing the contract had put Baggins under his protection and, for all that he had claimed otherwise to Gandalf, that meant something to Thorin. He refused to allow him to die in a thunderstorm in the Misty Mountains.

He swung down to help Baggins up, nearly falling as well in the process. His heart now thudded in terror for a different reason as he faced the fact that he himself may not reach the mountain.

It was this fear that made him snap, “He’s been lost ever since he left home. He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Baggins’ terror-filled expression turned to reluctant acceptance at Thorin’s words. Kíli and Balin both glared sharply at Thorin but he turned away. They would come to accept the fact just as he did, just as Baggins now did.

 

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Bilbo landed just as Gandalf passed a hand over Thorin’s brow. The dwarf wasn’t moving; Bilbo wasn’t even sure he was breathing. The other dwarves clustered around their king and he took a step back. He didn’t belong in their grief. He’d only known Thorin a short time, during which both of them made it clear that they thought very little of each other.

But he didn’t want Thorin to die. He was just coming to understand Thorin, after hearing him sing and listening to Balin’s tale and meeting the Pale Orc. He thought that, maybe after a little more time, he could even come to like Thorin. Maybe they could even be friends.

Gandalf was murmuring something now. Bilbo thought it might be some kind of Elvish. As he spoke, there was a soft exhalation from the others, the sort of relieved sigh that might come about from Thorin awakening.

“The halfling?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo smiled a little, ducking his head, nearly as relieved as the dwarves. It seemed that Thorin was indeed alive. “It’s all right,” Gandalf said soothingly. “Bilbo is here. He’s quite safe.” He stood and moved aside so that Thorin could see him. Bilbo sighed happily; for a moment, he’d been worried that his actions had been in vain.

Thorin stood, Fíli reaching out as though to stop his injured uncle from rising. But Thorin waved him away and Dwalin and Kíli both stepped forward to help him to his feet. Thorin cast an appraising glance over Bilbo, shrugging off Dwalin and Kíli’s hands. He imagined that he could see a new appreciation for him in those blue eyes. Then Thorin opened his mouth.

“You!” he exclaimed. Bilbo’s smile disappeared. Gandalf frowned. “What were you doing?” The rest of the Company glanced around in confusion at Thorin’s ungratefulness. “You nearly got yourself killed!”

“Thorin-” Balin said sharply.

Thorin started forward and Bilbo started back. “Did I not say that you would be a burden?” he asked harshly, continuing to advance on him. “That you would not survive in the wild?” His voice lowered to a growl. “That you had no place amongst us?”

Bilbo ducked his head, willing away angry tears. How could he have thought that Thorin would come to like him? Thorin had shown time and time again that he had no appreciation for Bilbo’s attempts to fit in with them, to help where he could. Here, now, was the proof.

“I have never been so wrong in all my life,” Thorin continued after a moment’s hesitation. Bilbo was stunned silent as Thorin threw his arms around him.

 _Oh_.

He could hear cheering around him but he couldn’t manage to focus on that. All he could feel was how good Thorin’s arms felt around him, how nice it was to be held by him. Distantly, he thought that Thorin still smelled good even after the goblin caves and the battle and the birds. Bilbo had never before thought of himself as little though he knew that he was to people like Gandalf, but here, in Thorin’s arms, he felt…well, small in the best possible way. He smiled a little to himself, partly in shock but more because this felt good.

He had been somewhat attracted to Thorin since the moment he’d first met him. Who wouldn’t be attracted to that thick dark hair and bright blue eyes and toned arms and- yes, Bilbo knew that he was attracted to Thorin Oakenshield. But it had been a very distant sort of attraction like how one admires a character in a story.

But Thorin was real and he was holding him and this was very bad. Thorin was the King Under the Mountain. Bilbo was a mere hobbit of the Shire. It would never work between the two of them and it wouldn’t be fair to either of them to even try.

For that reason alone, Thorin could never know how much Bilbo was attracted to him.

 

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They were four days out from the Carrock. Gandalf and Thorin suspected that they were being hunted though they’d seen neither hide nor hair of the orcs they’d encountered in the Misty Mountains. After seeing the hatred in Azog’s eyes, Bilbo privately agreed with them.

As a result, Thorin and Gandalf had both become more cautious. Nori and Bilbo both were sent ahead every few hours to scout the path before them while the rest of the Company sheltered in one of the rock outcroppings that littered the base of the mountain range. Bilbo didn’t mind the task, despite the danger it placed him in. Hobbits had long been able to travel nearly unseen and unheard by the Big Folk and his new magic ring was a fantastic aid in this endeavor. He did worry for Nori though, who had neither the magic ring nor a hobbit’s innate sneakiness to help him. But Nori reassured him that he had been a thief for nearly a hundred years. He was more than capable of the task Thorin had given him.

Bilbo still thought about lending him the magic ring though. He hadn’t mentioned it to any of the others, for reasons he still wasn’t sure of. This would be the perfect time though. Yet something stayed his hand and his words, keeping him from revealing the ring. Something possessive, something…dark. Bilbo didn’t much care for it. He already felt uncomfortable whenever he put the ring on like something hidden was watching him. But he couldn’t put a word to the disquieting feeling he got about the ring so he said nothing, sure that his unease was only in his mind.

They were camped now under an outcropping of rock, sheltered from prying eyes. Someone would have to practically be right on top of them to notice that the Company was there. Bilbo had returned from his scouting nearly two hours ago. Nori was still out there somewhere, checking their trail behind them to see if anyone had picked it up. Night had fallen an hour before, marking the time when Nori was supposed to have returned. Bilbo could tell that Gandalf was worried. The pacing and furrowed lines on his brow could hardly be indicative of anything else.

Someone settled down next to him, distracting Bilbo from his thoughts. He glanced over to see Thorin leaning back against the rock wall. Bilbo sighed inwardly. He hadn’t exactly been avoiding Thorin over the last four days (he’d only just gained the dwarf’s trust, he didn’t want to lose it so quickly) but he had seized upon the scouting opportunity perhaps a little more eagerly than he might have done before the Carrock.

His realization had startled him. There wasn’t a person alive who wouldn’t find Thorin attractive and Bilbo certainly wasn’t immune to that but it had been easy to ignore that attraction when Thorin was grumpy, rude, and quick-tempered toward him. He’d been shown a different side to the dwarf on the Carrock, a side that was noble and even a little soft, exactly what Balin had painted him as when he’d told Bilbo about the Battle of Azanulbizar.

Since they’d left the Carrock, Thorin had tried to become closer to Bilbo, actively seeking him out for advice and conversation. He’d offered assistance with Bilbo’s sword lessons with Dwalin and sat beside him during their meals. Bilbo wanted to say that he hated it, hated that Thorin was trying to become his friend, but he couldn’t. He liked that he was being shown the side of Thorin that the rest of the Company had seen for years. He liked that Thorin wanted to be his friend. He just wished that, maybe, they could be a little closer than friends, futile as the wish might be.

“I don’t believe I ever apologized to you,” Thorin said quietly.

Bilbo’s eyes widened. He hadn’t been expecting this when Thorin had sat beside him. “No,” he assured him quickly. “You did. Back on the Carrock. I know you were a little out of it but you did.”

Thorin smiled slightly and Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat. “For doubting you, yes,” Thorin continued. “But not for my words. I was needlessly cruel and I shouldn’t have been. I should have been better than that.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Thorin, no. I doubted myself too. I wanted to go back. You only had the courage to say what I was thinking.”

Frowning, Thorin replied, “You shouldn’t have had to doubt yourself. I fear that my harsh words made things worse for you. You’ve done nothing but prove yourself to me and I should have seen it long before we reached the Misty Mountains.” His voice lowered to a self-conscious mutter. “What sort of king doubts the loyalty of those who follow him?”

He suspected that the question was rhetorical but, even so, Bilbo gently laid a hand over one of the Thorin’s. Thorin twitched at the movement and then he moved to cover Bilbo’s hand with his other. Bilbo was silent for a moment, arrested by the sight of his small hand dwarfed in Thorin’s. “The sort that has had little reason to trust in the past,” he finally managed. Thorin looked over at him, a questioning gleam in his eyes. “Balin told me that you tried to gather more for your quest, that your own cousin refused you aid. I can think of few who would trust after that.”

Thorin made a soft noise of dissent and turned his face away. Bilbo reached over, cupped his chin, and turned him back to face him. “Really,” he stated emphatically, “I am grateful for the trust you have placed in me, however long it may have taken us to get here.”

Thorin’s gaze searched his as though he disbelieved what Bilbo said. Bilbo himself wasn’t entirely certain of how Thorin had inspired such loyalty in him. It might have been the loyalty he saw the other dwarves and even Gandalf give him. It might have been the attraction he felt when he was near Thorin, the thrill that ran through him when Thorin so much as brushed against him. It might have been that Thorin had come to trust and maybe even like him over the last few days. Whatever it was, he knew that Thorin Oakenshield owned his loyalty now and forevermore.

Bilbo wasn’t sure of what else to do to get Thorin to believe him, save for something he had seen Dori do to Ori once so he tipped his head forward until his forehead pressed against Thorin’s. “You must believe me,” he whispered. “Any words you have said are in the past. I will follow you now, into the dragon’s lair and further if you ask it.”

Thorin watched him closely, eyes wide and surprised. After a further moment’s hesitation, he nodded and Bilbo pulled back. He glanced around surreptitiously to see if anyone had noticed. Only Fíli ducked his head, refusing to meet Bilbo’s gaze. The others were watching the front of the cave for Nori’s return.

“Thank you, Mister Baggins,” Thorin said quietly. It seemed like he wanted to say more but Nori ducked inside.

“They’ve picked up our trail,” he said breathlessly. “Can’t be more than a day behind us.”

Thorin nodded shortly. “We’ll have to move fast then. Pack up,” he ordered. “We’ve a ways to go.”

 

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It had been two days of dodging orc patrols and occasionally doubling back to try and hide their trail. Two days of constant fear and, once, a small skirmish to kill off a lone scout. Thorin hated that they’d had to face the scout as it had almost certainly alerted Azog to their presence but they’d had no other choice. They would have had to face Azog much sooner if they’d merely run from the scout.

Bilbo was scouting ahead now and they were waiting for him to report if the way ahead was clear. Thorin hated also that they were waiting while they sent Bilbo into danger but Gandalf had insisted. He had sensed, with those strange wizard insight he sometimes got, that there was something ahead. So they’d sent Bilbo while they waited behind.

He knew it was necessary but oh how he wanted Bilbo back. If pressed, he would have said that it was a desire to have the most essential part of their quest safe. But he couldn’t deny to himself that he wanted Bilbo close for a far more personal reason. He’d known from the start that their burglar was a handsome fellow but it had been easy enough to ignore that fact when he’d thought that Bilbo was no more than a nuisance on their quest. But then Bilbo had shown himself to be clever and brave and loyal, so loyal. He could feel that pesky admiration blooming into something more and that bothered him. Bilbo deserved more than a king without a throne, a dwarf with nothing more to his name than a half-deserved title who wasn’t even able to protect his homeland. What could he ever want to do with Thorin?

There was a clatter of small stones, shaking him out of his dark musings. Then Bilbo appeared out of nowhere, scrambling down a rocky slide. “How close is the pack?” Thorin asked, ushering him down into the safety of the Company, suspecting that he might have checked on the orcs while he’d scouted ahead.

“Too close,” Bilbo admitted, nose twitching. “A couple of leagues, no more. But that’s not the worst of it.”

Thorin’s heart lurched. Had they seen Bilbo? He knew they were being tracked but were they now being hunted? Dwalin stepped forward, asking, “Have the wargs picked up our scent?”

Bilbo shook his head once, quickly. “Not yet. But they will do. We have another problem.”

“Did they see you?” Gandalf asked. Bilbo whirled to face him, gasping a little for breath. Thorin imagined he’d run all the way back. “Hmm?” He peered a little closer at Bilbo’s face and then stated, clearly horrified, “They saw you.”

Bilbo shook his head again. “No, that’s not it.”

Thorin couldn’t have quite described the relief that flooded his system at Bilbo’s words. His burglar was safe, had been careful. Gandalf appeared to feel the same way as he leaned back, a pleased smile on his face.

“What did I tell you?” Gandalf said. “Quiet as a mouse.” The other dwarves murmured their agreement, proud as they were of their burglar. “Excellent burglar material.”

“Will you listen?” Bilbo asked. Thorin went silent at once, noting the panicked note in Bilbo’s voice. This was different than the fearful tones he had when speaking of the orcs. This was sheer terror of something unknown. The others didn’t seem to pick up on it though and Bilbo raised his voice to a near-shout. “Will you _just_ listen?” The Company fell quiet. Bilbo lowered his voice again.

“I’m trying to tell you there is something else out there.”

Thorin glanced at Dwalin, sharing exasperated glares. Couldn’t they catch a break just once? He could see the rest of the Company looking around at each other but Gandalf stepped forward again, now urgent as he asked, “What form did it take? Like a bear?”

All eyes swung toward Gandalf. Thorin had seen bears before, they had been rather commonplace around the Lonely Mountain, but he knew that many of the others had never seen them, as they didn’t dwell near the Blue Mountains. Kíli, in particular, looked rather confused.

Bilbo didn’t look confused at all, just surprised that Gandalf had guessed what he’d seen. “Y-yes,” he stammered. “But bigger. Much bigger.”

Gandalf looked resigned, something that everyone picked up on. “You knew about this beast?” Bofur exclaimed. Thorin couldn’t blame him. Why go this route in the first place if there was a great creature like that out there in the wild?

“I say we double back,” Bofur continued.

“And be run down by a pack of orcs?” Thorin countered. He didn’t see that they had much choice now but to continue on the path they were on. The others began to shout in their opinion, either in agreement with Bofur or Thorin. It looked like it would devolve into an argument but Gandalf interrupted.

“There is a house,” he said, facing the south as though he could see the house he spoke of. He turned back to the group. “It’s not far from here where we might take refuge.”

Thorin didn’t much care for the hesitant way in which Gandalf spoke. “Whose house?” he asked. “Are they friend or foe?”

“Neither,” Gandalf said readily. Thorin sighed. “He will help us or… he will kill us.”

“What choice do we have?” Thorin said resignedly. He suspected he knew the answer but he wanted to ask anyway, just in case Gandalf had a trick up his sleeve. Suddenly, there was a great roar from behind them. Thorin ducked slightly, hand on Bilbo’s shoulder as though to push him behind him.

“None,” Gandalf said once the roar died down. He turned as though to start off immediately but Bilbo threw up a hand.

“Wait!” he cried. Everyone stopped to look at him. “Nori,” he said quietly, “do you know what a bear looks like?”

Thorin was rather impressed. He hadn’t thought that Bilbo would have picked up on their confusion but the hobbit continued to surprise him. He glanced at Nori and saw him shaking his head.

Bilbo nodded like he’d expected the answer and then jerked his head toward the trail he’d originally appeared from. “Come on,” he said.

“We cannot delay,” Gandalf insisted.

“Then go ahead!” Bilbo snapped. “Nori and I can catch up. But I won’t let him risk his life scouting for a creature he’s never seen before!”

Gandalf appeared taken aback like he hadn’t thought Bilbo would ever argue with him. Thorin ducked his head to hide a smile. After a small hesitation, Gandalf looked over to Thorin to see what his orders would be.

“I believe Mister Baggins is leading us now. We’ll do as he says,” he said amusedly. Bilbo smiled gratefully at him.

“Very well,” Gandalf finally said, eyeing Thorin curiously. He motioned for the others to follow him and lead the way out of the hollow. Nori hung back, as did Thorin.

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked when all was silent, the last dwarf disappearing around the corner.

“I too wish to see what this new pursuer looks like,” he said. He didn’t admit to the other half of the reason- that he was unwilling to send Bilbo into further danger with only a thief to aid him if he got into trouble.

“Fair enough,” Bilbo said easily before leading the way back into the labyrinth of rocks.

“Don’t you know what a bear looks like?” Nori asked with a smirk as he passed by Thorin.

“Hush,” Thorin muttered.

They continued on. Thorin didn’t have to wonder how Bilbo was tracking the creature. They could hear it easily enough as it wasn’t trying to be quiet. More than that though, the wind was in their favor, carrying the beast’s smell towards them. It was rank, unsurprising for such a creature. Thorin wondered how Bilbo, whose nose he had noticed was more sensitive, could stand it.

After a few minutes travel, Bilbo pulled them to a part of the trail where, above them, there was a break in the rocks. “There,” he breathed. He climbed up with Nori first. From below, Thorin could hear Nori’s sharp inhalation and wondered what it was that they were seeing. Bilbo had described it as a bear but bigger. Perhaps there were other changes as well.

Nori slithered back down and Thorin climbed up to join Bilbo. The creature stood on a ridge no more than a few hundred yards from them. It was exactly as Bilbo had said- a bear but huge and monstrous. He drew in a breath, trying to remain silent through the sudden fear.

Bilbo glanced at him as though he knew what Thorin was thinking. They were no more than a few inches apart. Thorin felt his fear melting away to be replaced with something far more pleasant though just as scary in its own right. He opened his mouth to say something (probably foolish, he was always foolish around Bilbo) but Bilbo held up a finger to his lips, gaze darting back towards the beast. Thorin nodded and climbed back down. Bilbo looked back at the creature for another long second and then followed.

Thorin caught him as he neared the bottom, lowering him gently to the ground. If asked, he would have said that it was nothing more than wanting to make as little noise as possible but he couldn’t deny that his hands lingered on Bilbo’s waist far longer than was appropriate. His thumb rubbed gently at the spot where Bilbo’s shirt had ridden up. He couldn’t help but think that his skin was softer than he would have thought.

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked after a moment, eyes wide. He abruptly let go of Bilbo and stepped back.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly, grateful for the beard that hid his blush. He stepped aside so Bilbo could lead them back to the Company.

“So,” Nori said as he stepped up beside him, drawing out the word. “Our burglar.”

“My burglar,” Thorin corrected without thinking and then winced. Nori grinned gleefully. “Say nothing of this.”

Nori held up his hands placating. “As my king commands,” he said cheerfully. He set off after Bilbo, who had long since disappeared behind a boulder.

Thorin groaned, sure this was going to come back to bother him.

 

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Thorin was supposed to be resting. When Beorn had accepted them into his home, Óin had taken a few minutes to check him over and proclaim that his injuries would heal- so long as he rested. Thorin had thanked him and promptly made his way outside where Dwalin was yet again working with Bilbo (the fighting lessons having been put aside while they were fleeing Azog’s pack).

To his credit, he had been resting. But then Bilbo had made a mistake and Dwalin had merely corrected him without explaining the problem. Thorin could see in Bilbo’s eyes that he didn’t understand why his mistake was such a bad thing. He could see the hobbit was getting frustrated.

He stood and hobbled over to the two, his muscles protesting the movement now that he’d had a chance to rest. “Move,” he told Dwalin.

Dwalin protested, “Thorin-”

“Move,” he repeated firmly. Dwalin huffed but stood aside. Thorin drew Orcrist and moved into a ready stance.

“The problem,” he said as he demonstrated what Bilbo had just done, “is that when you raise your arm like this, you leave your side open to attack.” He tapped at his own side lightly.

“But any enemy I meet won’t be attacking me from the side,” Bilbo pointed out.

Thorin inclined his head. “Perhaps if you were only facing one opponent,” he conceded. “But not in a battle where you might be facing multiple orcs.”

“Am I likely to run into a battle in your Company, Thorin?” Bilbo asked. “I thought I signed on to face a dragon, not a whole army of orcs.”

“And what would you call the thing with the trolls? Or with Azog?”

Bilbo opened his mouth and then shut it again. “Yes,” he said finally, wrinkling his nose. “I suppose that would be true.”

Thorin smiled fondly. “Come. Show me what you’ve learned.” Bilbo blinked at him. Thorin reached out and tapped Bilbo’s sword with Orcrist. “Mister Baggins,” he prompted. Bilbo suddenly sprang into motion, moving into a ready stance to match Thorin’s. Dwalin huffed again and walked away.

“Óin told ya to rest,” he called though it didn’t stop him from sitting on the bench Thorin had vacated.

“I don’t think our burglar’s going to give me much trouble,” Thorin commented.

“Hey!”

“Are you?” Thorin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bilbo twisted his mouth ruefully and said, “Probably not.”

They progressed into the lesson, Thorin calling out stances as Bilbo moved clumsily but enthusiastically into them. He corrected when necessary and explained why certain moves had to be executed the way they were. Perhaps it was his own imagination but he thought that the lesson might be going better than it normally did with Dwalin. He liked to think that was because he was the one teaching Bilbo.

The swords clashed and he stepped in close, sliding his blade down to lock hilts with Bilbo’s sword. From the distance, he could count every freckle on Bilbo’s nose, trace every wrinkle on his forehead. He gulped, Bilbo’s gaze dropping to track the movement.

“You’ll want to be careful, Bilbo,” he murmured, “not to drop your guard. An orc could get inside your blade. This is never a good position to be stuck in.”

He thought that Bilbo might ask why or say something cheeky in reply but instead Bilbo whispered, “You called me Bilbo.”

Thorin hesitated. He’d been careful never to call Bilbo by his first name. It seemed too intimate, a luxury that he could never afford. “I’m sorry,” he replied. “Was I too forward?”

“No!” Bilbo hurried to say. “I like it.” He blushed and Thorin noted absently that it was a very pretty blush. “I mean, I like not being called Mister Baggins. I don’t mind you calling me Bilbo.” He cleared his throat. “You were saying something about not dropping your guard?”

“Right,” Thorin said, thinking he sounded a little hoarse, and cleared his own throat. He stepped back, sure that he was imagining the disappointed look in Bilbo’s eyes. “Dropping your guard.”

He rather thought it was too late though. He’d already dropped his guard and Bilbo had slipped through.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Thorin was sitting alone.

Bilbo had looked over a few minutes ago to see Thorin sitting by himself on the other side of the fire. The rest of the Company was clustered around Beorn listening to one of his stories about when skin-changers were common in Middle Earth. Thorin, on the other hand, had moved away early in the tale to brood into the flames.

Bilbo didn’t like that. He didn’t like that Thorin had sequestered himself away. Thorin had enough to worry about on a good day. He didn’t need to brood on it more.

So he stood and made his way across the vast fire pit, built for a race much larger than him, and sat down next to the dwarf king. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said lightly.

Thorin was silent, long enough that Bilbo thought about leaving. Then he grumbled, “Durin’s Day is coming. Yet we sit here wasting our time listening to the stories of a man who would just as soon see my people dead.”

There wasn’t much Bilbo could say to that last part. It was true that Beorn had no love lost for the dwarves and that he was helping them only because he despised orcs more than dwarves. But- “We have time, Thorin. Durin’s Day is still a few weeks away. We’ll make it to the Lonely Mountain.”

Thorin looked over at him doubtfully. “We have not yet entered the realm of the Woodland King,” he said.

“Do you think that will take long?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. “If we can slip past without him noticing, it shouldn’t take long at all. But Thranduil is crafty and his spies are everywhere in the forest. He has tricks to bewitch the mind, ensnare your very thoughts. We will be lucky if we can make it through Mirkwood unseen.”

Bilbo felt a chill run through him at Thorin’s words. He hadn’t heard much about the Woodland King other than Thorin’s hatred for him though he’d heard from Gandalf about the darkness creeping over Mirkwood. This, however, was new. This was a warning unmatched by anything the dwarves had told him before. Not even when Kíli and Fíli had told him about the orcs had he felt like this. Thorin was brooding again, staring deeply into the dancing fire, and Bilbo thought it might be time for a subject change.

“Did you know that in the Shire we have a field with a great beech tree in the middle?” he began. “We call it the Party Tree. Whenever there’s a celebration, we hang lights in the Party Tree and we celebrate beneath it. I had my coming-of-age party in that field. Half the Shire was invited. The rest turned up anyway.” He chuckled a little at the memory.

“A beech tree?” Thorin asked. Something about the way he said made Bilbo turn to study him.

“You don’t have beech trees in Erebor?”

“We might. I don’t know. A tree is a tree.”

Bilbo scoffed. “A tree is _not_ a tree,” he stated emphatically. “A beech tree is different than an oak and an oak is different than a willow and they are all different than an ash.”

Thorin laughed as well now. Bilbo’s heart lightened at the sound. “You have so many words for trees,” he commented.

“Well there’s so many different kinds, you know.” He took out his pipe and lit it. “And they all have different uses. See I might use mahogany wood for furniture but I would never use it for my pipe. My pipe is made from a cherry tree even though they’re both red.” He held it out to Thorin. “Try. It changes the flavor of the pipe-weed.”

Thorin took the proffered pipe, dragging on it in one long pull before handing it back. “We have few words for plants,” he said quietly. “But we have many for stone. For handling it, for mining it, for the metals and gems that can be found in it.”

Bilbo was silent, inviting an explanation. Thorin didn’t disappoint. He tapped at one of the beads in his hair. “You might think this is silver,” he said. Bilbo made an assenting noise. “But it’s not. It’s mithril.”

He’d never heard of the term before. “Mithril?”

“Silver steel, a metal more precious than gold. You can’t find it in Erebor, only in the mines of Moria.” He unwound the bead from the braid to hand to Bilbo, unaware of the eyes watching them from across the fire.

Bilbo handled the bead as though it were priceless, which he supposed it might be if mithril were as expensive as gold. He held it up, admiring the way it caught the firelight. There were tiny runes etched on the bead and he marveled at the craftsmanship such small etchings must have required.

“It’s beautiful,” he said honestly as he gave it back. Deftly, Thorin rewove the braid and threaded the bead back onto the end. “What does it mean?”

Thorin looked startled at the question so he explained, “They’re all different, the beads and the braids. I thought they must mean something.”

Thorin smiled fondly and muttered, “Clever hobbit.” He touched the braid lightly. “This one shows that I am of the line of Durin. You’ll notice Fíli and Kíli have the same braid. The bead is a mark of my kingship. My sister-sons wear one to symbolize that they also are of royal blood though theirs is for a prince. When Fíli becomes king, the bead I wear will pass on to him.”

“That was your grandfather’s?” Bilbo asked. Personally, he had many things that had belonged to his ancestors but he somehow hadn’t expected that from the nomadic dwarves.

Thorin’s face fell. “No,” he said. “My grandfather’s bead was lost at Moria. I forged a new one.”

Bilbo grimaced. He hadn’t meant to remind Thorin of the Pale Orc. Thorin, he noticed, had removed a different bead from his pocket and was twirling it idly between his fingers. Bilbo recognized that bead; Thorin had worn it until the Carrock where he’d removed it as they were climbing down the rock. He wondered now if had symbolized his victory over Azog at Moria, removed now because Azog hadn’t been defeated as thought.

He couldn’t continue to let Thorin brood like this. He had come over to cheer Thorin up, not depress him further. Impulsively, he blurted out, “Tell me about Erebor.”

Thorin jerked his head up, slipping the bead back into his pocket. “What?”

“I’ve heard so much about the time after the dragon and, you know, the dragon attack but I haven’t heard much about what Erebor was like before Smaug came or what your life there was like and I know you’ve heard all about the Shire and what I love about it and how much I miss it and you’re probably tired of hearing about it so I thought I’d ask what Erebor was like,” Bilbo chattered, aware he was babbling but he couldn’t seem to stop.

Thorin laid a hand on his arm. Instantly, Bilbo stilled at the gentle touch and Thorin snatched his hand away as though burned. Bilbo found himself missing the warmth though he knew that was silly.

“I would be glad to tell you of my home,” Thorin said softly, eyes shining with memories from long ago. “Erebor was once the greatest city in Middle Earth. Bilbo, I wish you could have seen it…” Bilbo settled back, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning on his hands, as Thorin told him about halls filled with golden light and fire-warmed stone, about jewels sparkling like starlight and a vast city that stretched far below the mountain.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Kíli was singing. Badly.

This was not particularly unusual for Kíli. Out of the entire Company, Kíli and Bofur were the ones most likely to burst into song on the trail. One of them would start singing and the other would follow and soon the entire Company would be singing along to some dwarfish marching song. Even Bilbo had come to pick up on the songs and would hum along under his breath as the Company alerted everyone within a mile to their location.

There hadn’t been much singing since they’d left the Misty Mountains behind them. A pack of orcs chasing them had quite driven the urge out of their systems. But they were safe in Beorn’s home, it was their last night there, and Beorn had broken out the honey mead. What dwarf could resist such a lure?

Now, Kíli was leading the dwarves in a drinking song about the assets of a lusty barmaid. Bilbo found the song rather interesting for all that it was highly inappropriate. Hobbit drinking songs were about the superiority of the brew and the comforts of home. None of this shouting about how badly they wanted to tumble the barmaid. Not that he minded the lyrics. If Kíli wanted to sing about dwarfish lasses, then Bilbo wasn’t going to stop him.

He had meant to go to bed a few hours ago but he couldn’t quite seem to manage it. Every time he tried to fall asleep, there was an upswing in the noise level and he found himself wide-awake again. Eventually, he’d stumbled out of bed and back over to the fire. The others had eagerly welcomed him back into the circle and he’d sat down beside Thorin to listen to their songs once again.

“You’re not singing,” Thorin observed.

Bilbo laughed. “Me? No. Can’t carry a tune to save my life.”

“Not even a little?”

“Nope. My cousin, Esmeralda, she’s got the voice of a nightingale and when my mother sang, people stopped whatever they were doing to listen.”

“But not you,” Thorin stated.

Bilbo shook his head. “No, that trait seems to have passed me by.” A stray curl fell into this eyes and he blew it away, side-eying Thorin as he did. “You though,” he added, the mead loosening his tongue, “you have a lovely voice. Why aren’t you singing?”

Thorin eyed him back. “There is little to interest me in barmaids,” he said lowly.

“You don’t have to be interested in barmaids to sing about them,” Bilbo replied.

Thorin hummed noncommittally. “You think I have a lovely voice?” he asked instead.

“I do,” Bilbo said honestly. Before he could think further on it, he continued, “I heard you that night in Bag End. It’s what changed my mind about joining you.”

Thorin frowned and turned fully to face Bilbo. “It was?” he asked. It sounded almost as though he were searching for reassurance that Bilbo was there out of his own free will rather than coercion by the wizard.

Bilbo turned as well to meet Thorin’s gaze straight on. “I think anyone would have run after you once you’d sung.”

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Have you noticed something different about Uncle?” Fíli whispered as he watched Thorin smile dopily at something witty Bilbo had said.

Kíli shook his head and stuffed another piece of cheese in his mouth. “Not particularly,” he replied thickly.

Fíli distastefully eyed the food his brother spewed from his mouth, marveling at his brother’s obliviousness. “Really?” he asked. “You haven’t noticed him smiling at Bilbo or helping him privately with that letter opener of his?”

“Nope,” Kíli said blithely.

Time for a new tactic. “Have you noticed that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west?”

Kíli frowned. “Are you saying that’s because of Bilbo?”

Fíli sighed. “Never mind.”

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“What do you think of our burglar, brother?” Balin asked, petting his pony to get it to settle down. The pony didn’t much care for having to leave the safety of Beorn’s lands. Balin couldn’t much blame it; he didn’t want to leave either, not while Azog was still out there.

Dwalin glanced at where Thorin was helping Bilbo saddle his pony. “I don’t have many thoughts about him though Thorin certainly seems to.”

Balin followed his pointed gaze. “Yes, that,” he murmured.

“You don’t approve?”

“I approve just fine,” Balin said thoughtfully. “He already has an heir. No need to muddle the bloodline further with a wife. Just not sure the timing is right.”

“The timing?”

“That dragon is dangerous. They’ll both need to be at their best when we enter the mountain.”

They watched as Thorin, talking about something, buckled the saddle a little too loosely and nodded in unison. Distractions were a terrible thing when one was facing a sleeping dragon.

“I’ll go fix that-” Dwalin started.

“-I’ll talk to Thorin,” Balin finished.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Thorin,” Balin began hesitantly, seizing his moment now that Bilbo had ridden ahead to join Bofur. “Are you sure about this?”

“Sure about what?” Thorin asked, eyes fixed on the back of Bilbo’s horse (though Balin suspected his gaze wasn’t on the horse at all).

“It’s just- I’ve grown very fond of our burglar, you know-”

He got no further as, outraged and hurt, Thorin exclaimed, “I’m not going to hurt him!”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Balin said soothingly. “Leastways not on purpose. But accidents do happen and they happen more frequently with a dragon around. I don’t want to see either you or Bilbo get hurt if things go badly.”

“Me?” Thorin asked, sounding confused. His brow wrinkled. “Why would I get hurt?”

Balin thought he was beginning to see where this was going. He groaned inwardly. Thorin had never been particularly in touch with his feelings. Why would he have thought he would start now? Still though he said, “What with your feelings for Bilbo and all.”

Thorin’s eyes widened in horror, which was entirely the wrong reaction to have when being confronted with one’s feelings, at least it was according to Balin. “I don’t have _feelings_ for him!” he proclaimed rather more loudly than the conversation warranted. Ahead, Balin spied Bilbo’s back stiffen and he sighed.

“Just-” Thorin cut off, voice lowering. “He’s pretty, that’s all.”

Balin eyed him unimpressed. Thorin was clearly in denial if he couldn’t even see what was in front of his face. “If you say so,” he said doubtfully. “Just be careful is all I’m saying.”

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Thorin was distracted with the horror of the giant spiders and thoughts of the blond elf in front of him. The elf had something of the look of Thranduil about him. Thorin had never met Thranduil’s son but he suspected that this might be him. He carried himself proudly, arrogantly, the way Thranduil always had. The cold voice was the same as it had always been.

It was this distraction that he blamed now for keeping him from counting the members of his Company as he and Gandalf so often did. It was this that kept him from noticing that Bilbo was missing until Bofur fought his way to him as they were being herded away.

“Thorin, where’s Bilbo?” Bofur whispered.

Suddenly alarmed, Thorin whipped around to search the forest for their burglar. But he was nowhere to be seen. He froze, picturing the worst- Bilbo lying dead and alone on the forest floor or caught in a web to be a spider’s dinner.

“Lost something?” the blond elf asked coolly, reaching out to shove Thorin toward the rest of the Company.

Thorin glared at him, stepping away from the shoving hand, but said nothing. If there was even the slightest chance that Bilbo might have escaped, might be planning a rescue, he wanted to give him the greatest possibility of surprising the elves. The elves were a tricky sort of people. Bilbo would need the biggest advantage he could get.

If, of course, he had escaped the clutches of the spiders.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

They’d been in the dungeons of the Woodland King for five days before Thorin finally admitted to himself that the likelihood was that Bilbo had been killed in the forest. When they’d first been captured, when Balin had first asked about the deal Thranduil had offered, Thorin had reminded them that Bilbo was still out there.

But the day had passed and then the night and then the cycle had repeated twice more. They’d seen neither hide nor hair of Bilbo nor had they heard any commotion about an intruder, both of which should have happened if Bilbo had managed to follow them inside. After all, it wasn’t like Bilbo could turn invisible. But it seemed like Bilbo hadn’t made it in behind them before the gate had closed and everyone knew that there was no way inside the Woodland Realm once the gates were shut. Bilbo had been more than likely left alone in the forest to be left to the mercy of the spiders.

There was no rescue coming.

This fact meant that there was no way they would reach the mountain on time. To his surprise though he cared less that they would reach Erebor than about how he had left Bilbo to the treachery of Mirkwood. His thoughts dwelled on how he had taken the hobbit into his protection and how he had failed him. His dreams, when he managed to sleep, were more akin to nightmares, picturing Bilbo’s twisted and broken body on a pile of leaves. He resolved that, when they finally made it out of the dungeon, he had to go back for Bilbo’s body. The hobbit deserved better than to rot away from the sun.

He thought about the choices he’d made over the last week, wondering if he’d done things differently if he could have saved Bilbo. If he had told Thranduil’s son that they were missing a member of the Company, could Bilbo have been rescued from the spiders? If he had taken Thranduil’s deal, could he have been permitted to go back for the hobbit?

It didn’t matter now. It was far too late to go back. He supposed he could go and prostrate himself in front of Thranduil, beg him to send a search party into the forest for Bilbo but he found himself hesitating. He told himself it was because of the possibility that Bilbo could still be out there but he knew in the deepest part of his heart that it was because he didn’t want to rely on Thranduil for anything.

The more time passed though, the more he considered that option. After all, there was the possibility that Bilbo could have been stuck in a spider’s web. With the spiders dead, he would have awoken unaided. He might have managed to wriggle his way out of the web. He might now be wandering, lost and hungry in the forest. He might still be stuck in the web, starving and weak- and Thranduil might be able to help.

Thorin was rapidly coming to realize that he would do anything if it meant Bilbo would be okay.

He thought about what Balin had told him before they’d reached the forest, about how he’d warned him about the possibility of them getting hurt. He hadn’t understood what Balin had meant then but he thought he was beginning to. He hadn’t wanted to admit that Bilbo was coming to mean more to him than the throne of Erebor. He hadn’t wanted to admit that he thought he was falling in love with their burglar. He didn’t think he was there yet but he knew that he was quickly coming to that point. At Beorn’s house, he had thought that Bilbo was slipping past his guard but he hadn’t realized just how close they’d gotten.

“Tell me, dwarf, what does Tauriel even see when she looks at him?” a voice muttered close by, soft enough that the voice didn’t carry.

Thorin was startled out of his musings and even more startled to realize that Thranduil’s son, Legolas he’d come to learn his name was, was leaning up against the door to his cell. He moved to where Legolas was standing. From this location, he had the perfect vantage point to view his nephew badly flirting with the female guard- Tauriel she had been called- a level below them.

“Careful,” he replied lowly, every bit as quiet as Legolas had been. “That’s my sister-son you’re talking about.”

“I know. Why do you think I’m asking you?”

To Thorin’s amazement, the elf sounded more amused than infuriated at Thorin’s remark. He chanced a careful glance at Legolas to see him intently watching the pair. Thorin followed his gaze just in time to see Tauriel smile at something Kíli said.

Truthfully, he didn’t know what had drawn Tauriel’s eye to Kíli, other than his good looks. He knew that Kíli was brave and quick-sighted. He was intelligent, though not entirely wise and far too impulsive. He was compassionate though not always kind. Kíli was funny, both in his words and his deeds, and exceedingly passionate. But those were all things that took time to see, not something that could have been glimpsed in an instant and Tauriel’s eye had lit upon Kíli at their first meeting.

“He’s handsome enough,” he said finally.

“Do you think her so shallow?” Legolas replied, yet there was no bite to his words. Instead, he sounded merely curious to hear what Thorin had to say.

“I wouldn’t know,” Thorin honestly replied. “We don’t speak much.” This was certainly true. Tauriel came by every morning to bring them their breakfasts, speaking to none but Kíli. She would circle the cells to make sure they were all still locked away, always ending her tour at Kíli’s cell where she would stop and talk, usually for several hours before her duties called her away. Yesterday, she had spent the entire day in the dungeons talking to Kíli, only leaving once night had fallen. Thorin had also noticed Legolas watching her surreptitiously each day though this was the first day he had done so beside Thorin’s cell.

If Thorin had been in charge, he would have thought that the others were using Kíli to distract them from some sort of escape attempt. But neither Legolas nor Tauriel had seemed suspicious of them. At first, Thorin had thought this was simply lazy of them to believe so wholeheartedly in the impenetrability of their dungeon but, as he had watched them, he had come to realize that they were both still very young, perhaps no older than the equivalence of Fíli or Kíli. Their blindness was more likely to be blamed on youthful naïveté.

“Kíli is a fine dwarf,” he continued. “But I doubt she could have only seen that in a few days.”

Legolas commented, looking pained as he did, “He makes her laugh. I could never do that.”

“Have you known her long?” Thorin asked gruffly. It sounded far too familiar to his situation with Bilbo. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed before Bilbo had made him do so. He couldn’t even remember the comment that Bilbo had made only that it had startled a chuckle out of him.

“Since we were young,” Legolas said. “We were raised together.”

Thorin winced. To have known each other that long and never have made her laugh… He doubted she looked upon the blond elf as anything more than a brother.

“How long have you felt this way for her?”

Legolas was quiet as he thought before he admitted, “Not long. No more than a hundred years.”

Thorin was stunned silent. A hundred years ago he had still been a young dwarf without the streaks of silver in his hair. A hundred years ago he had still been leading his people through the wilderness. He hadn’t quite understood what Thranduil had meant when he’d said that a hundred years to an elf was like the blink of an eye but he thought he understood now. He couldn’t imagine loving someone for a hundred years and calling it nothing.

“What drew you to her?” he managed finally. He thought that if he understood Tauriel a little better, he might understand how Kíli had attracted her notice.

“I always thought of her as a sister,” Legolas mused. “But one day I looked up and there she was, with hair like the autumn leaves and eyes that shone like stars. I thought I saw her clearly then. My father-”

He broke off as though unsure if he should speak ill of Thranduil. Thorin, eager to hear the prince’s thoughts of his father, made an assenting noise.

“My father, though often wise, has walked this earth too long. I fear that he has come to forget the troubles of others, that he no longer cares about Middle Earth. Tauriel isn’t like that. She cares about what lies beyond our borders though they are not our people.”

He thought that perhaps it had been that that had drawn Kíli and Tauriel together, that they had recognized kindred spirits in each other. But he doubted that it was something that Legolas was ready to hear, that a dwarf and an elf could be so similar in their outlooks.

Thorin thought also that Legolas sounded both admiring of Tauriel’s compassion and conflicted about whether he should follow the teachings of his father over the beliefs of his beloved. He remembered how harsh, how judgmental Legolas had sounded in the forest in front of his fellow elves and compared that to how soft he sounded now. He wondered how sheltered Legolas had been, growing up with such a father, and how long it had been since he’d started questioning his father’s words.

Thinking it possible that he could take advantage of the elf’s doubtfulness, he asked, “Could you get us out of here?”

Worry had made him reckless. He knew immediately that he’d made a mistake. Legolas reared back as though struck.

“I am no traitor, dwarf,” Legolas hissed. “I will not go against the wishes of my king, nor will I allow you to walk free to trespass on elven lands.”

Thorin, sensing his opportunity slipping away, grasped through the bars. He barely managed to catch hold of Legolas’ tunic before he strode away. “Wait!” he said desperately. Legolas looked at his grasping fingers with derision though he did pause.

“I meant no offense,” Thorin said, the words hard to choke out through his prejudice. “I’m worried.”

Legolas’ expression changed to a suspicious one, his eyes narrowing. Thorin sighed and gave up hope that Bilbo was coming for them. “You asked in the forest if I had lost something. I didn’t say so then but we are missing one of our Company,” he admitted.

The elf’s eyes narrowed further to mere slits. “You haven’t said anything before now,” he stated.

“I was holding out hope that he would come for us. But I fear that he may have been left to the spiders. I would rather him be here with us than dead in the forest.”

“Never before has the Woodland Realm been infiltrated,” Legolas said, voice wavering in its confidence. His eyes had grown distant and Thorin wondered what he might be thinking of.

“Bilbo is sly,” Thorin said proudly. “He has ways of passing unseen that others may overlook and he may be quieter than a mouse when he chooses.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow. “That is no dwarfish name,” he observed drily.

“Bilbo is no dwarf. We came across him in the Shire.”

“A halfling?”

Thorin smiled fondly to himself. “He prefers to be called a hobbit.”

Legolas nodded far too knowingly. Thorin’s affections were obvious indeed if even an elf could pick up on them. “If I go out into the forest, how would I know who your Bilbo is?”

Thorin doubted that the elf could possibly mistake anything else in that dark forest for Bilbo but he said, “Ori has a drawing of him in his pack.”

“Which one is Ori?” Legolas asked flatly. “You dwarves all look the same to me.” He glanced again at Tauriel and Kíli.

Thorin glared at him. “The youngest,” he said through gritted teeth. That last insult had been unnecessary.

“I will look for him,” Legolas announced. His voice softened to something akin to pity as he continued. “But do not trust to hope. The nights are long and the forest is dangerous.”

It didn’t matter what Legolas said though. Hope had stirred in Thorin’s breast.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Another five days into their captivity and that hope had all but died. Legolas had returned nearly three days after Thorin’s request. “I’m sorry,” he had said. “I looked but there was no sign of your hobbit.” He’d seemed truly sorrowful as he had bowed his head once and then departed.

Thorin had collapsed against the back wall of his cell. He hadn’t truly known how badly he’d wanted Legolas to come back with Bilbo in tow until it hadn’t happened. He had cried silent tears at the loss of their dear burglar.

The next day, Legolas had been the one to bring their breakfast meals, Tauriel having been called away for some matter. Dori had yelled at him as he’d passed by, demanded to know when they’d be set free.

Legolas had stared coldly at him until Dori had broken eye contact. Only then did he say, “When my king commands it. If I could, you’d never see day again.”

Thorin had shuddered. He’d thought he was making progress with the elven prince. Clearly though he had been wrong. He wondered what had been said to him (or, he amended the thought as Tauriel passed by him hours later on her way to see Kíli, what he had seen) to make him change into the haughty creature they’d met in the forest.

Another night now had come and gone. For Thorin, it had passed fitfully, full of restless nightmares and cold sweats. He suspected that it was a similar experience to that of the rest of the Company’s judging by their groans.

“I’ll wager the sun is on the rise,” Bofur called needlessly, sounding as exhausted as Thorin felt. “Must be nearly dawn.”

“We’re never gonna reach the mountain, are we?” Ori said quieter but his voice still carried through the silent halls.

Fíli sighed, a sigh that echoed in Thorin’s heart. The last of his spirits sunk. Ori was right. They were never going to reach Erebor in time. It was as though every creature in Middle Earth had been set against them, straining to ensure that the dwarves of Erebor never returned home. He leaned his head back against the cell wall, closing his eyes. Maybe it would have been better if he’d taken Thranduil’s deal. After all, what were a few measly gems when compared to the Arkenstone? No one outside the Company had to know that he’d compromised his values to escape Mirkwood. But he knew he couldn’t do that, no matter how much Balin urged him to. It wasn’t in his blood and for that, they would rot in Thranduil’s halls.

But then a familiar voice said, “Not stuck in here you’re not.” Thorin opened his eyes to see Bilbo smile crookedly at him, holding up a set of keys.

Thorin’s heart skipped a beat even as he lunged to his feet, clutching the bars of his cell. As if commanded to, Bilbo swayed towards him, gaze hot. Thorin caught his breath, thinking that there was no one else but them in the hall. He knew then that he wasn’t fallen for Bilbo, that he’d already fallen. He was doomed to see that smile every night in his dreams.

But if he was doomed, then it was the best kind.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Bilbo was worried. Not just about Bard and how worried and betrayed he’d looked when the Master of Laketown had welcomed the dwarves to their town. Not just about Kíli who had turned more ashen with each moment that passed until he’d eventually excused himself from the party a few minutes ago. Not just about Thorin who had sat in a corner brooding over the glimpses of the Lonely Mountain he could see from the window since the party had begun. Not just about the rest of the Company who were entirely too drunk for a group traveling to a dragon-infested mountain tomorrow.

Though those were all perfectly valid worries, he was more worried about himself. Tomorrow Thorin would have everything he’d ever wanted within his grasp. Tomorrow the Company would stand upon the mountain they’d been trying to return to for over a hundred and fifty years. Tomorrow the quest would be nearly over.

Tomorrow Bilbo would face a dragon.

And he had no idea how that would go. He didn’t know if Smaug was dead or alive in there, asleep or awake. He didn’t know what he would say or do or what he was going to steal from the vast halls of Erebor (when he’d joined the Company, he’d thought that the Lonely Mountain was only a little mountain, now he saw how wrong he’d been). Not for the first time, he was glad of his magic ring because he couldn’t imagine how he would have been able to enter the mountain otherwise.

He wished Gandalf were here.

Gandalf might have had an idea for Bilbo to try. At the very least, he would have said something cryptic that was exactly what Bilbo needed to hear at that moment.

He got up and moved to a corner of the room further away from the party. He wasn’t going to drink tonight and he’d already given up on trying to reign in the dwarves’ merriment. He supposed he could have gone up to bed but he had the vague idea of asking Thorin for advice.

Not that Thorin was paying any attention to him at the moment. Thorin was too busy staring down his mountain as though he could force Smaug out by the force of his glare.

Bilbo hunkered down in his corner and closed his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall. It wasn’t quiet anywhere in the room, the Master had seen to that, but the noise level did drop some in this back corner. A half hour later, he heard someone settle down beside him.

“You look troubled,” Thorin said inquisitively.

Bilbo cracked one eye open. It seemed like he had Thorin’s full attention now. He shifted slightly to face him and opened both eyes. Thorin was sitting near him, so close that Bilbo could feel the heat from his body. The nearness was more than a little heady but Bilbo guessed that Thorin was only sitting so close to him because it was the only way to have a private conversation. Thorin had been confusing ever since they’d left Beorn’s home, running hot and then cold, sometimes acting as though he wanted nothing more than to be at Bilbo’s side forever and then turning around a few minutes later to push Bilbo away. He wasn’t sure what was going through Thorin’s head but it was exhausting to him and his poor heart.

“Can you blame me?” he asked. “When we reach the mountain tomorrow, you’ll send me in alone to try to steal something from under the nose of a dragon. If anything goes wrong, it will mean my death. You won’t be able to get to me in time. I will be alone. So tell me Thorin, can you blame me for being scared?”

Thorin looked sad as he listened to Bilbo’s words. “No, Bilbo. I don’t blame you for being scared. I am too. I wish I could go in there with you, that my scent wasn’t known to Smaug, but I would be more of a danger to you than if I remained outside.”

He looked away and then asked, “Does that make me a coward?” His words could have sounded accusatory but there was an odd note to them. Bilbo thought that this might have been something that had bothered Thorin for a long time. He thought it might have been something that Thorin was only just now giving voice to.

“Thorin,” he started to say.

“What if I’m not enough?” Thorin asked like he hadn’t heard Bilbo speak, voice now soft enough that Bilbo had to strain to hear him. “What if I cannot be the king my people deserve?”

“Thorin, you have always been enough,” Bilbo said firmly. Beside him, Thorin stilled. “You have always been the king your people needed. Who else would have become a blacksmith so their people could eat? Who else would have wandered for years looking for a home for their people? Who else would be willing to face down a dragon, the same dragon that’d stolen their home from them, so that their people could go home? You are enough, Thorin. You are going to bring the dwarves of Erebor home and you are going to rule over them and you will be every bit the king you were born to be.” Softly, he finished, “The king I know you can be.”

“Bilbo. My brave burglar,” Thorin murmured. His gaze dropped to Bilbo’s lips. Bilbo felt his breath catch in his throat. Thorin leaned closer, hesitating only when he was a hairbreadth away. He glanced up, seeking confirmation that this was okay. Bilbo nodded desperately, scarcely able to believe that this was happening. He’d wanted this for so long. It hardly seemed possible that it was real. Thorin whispered his name again, a sweet smile curving his lips up.

Before he could close the distance though, Bofur plopped himself down between the two of them. They both leaned back; the moment was broken. Bilbo could smell the alcohol coming off him like he’d taken a dive in a barrel of ale rather than a barrel of fish. He wrinkled his nose.

“You!” Bofur half-shouted. Bilbo and Thorin both winced at the noise. He poked Bilbo in the chest. “You’re my closestest friend.”

Bilbo smiled despite himself. “Don’t you mean your closest friend?”

Bofur shook his head. “Nuh-uh. Bifur and Bombur, they’re my closest friends,” he slurred. “But you’re somethin’ more so you’re closestest. Thorin! Don’t you think Bilbo’s somethin’ more?”

Thorin’s smile was private, for Bilbo alone. “Yes,” he said, heated gaze locked on Bilbo’s. “He is.”

“What are you two doin’ sittin’ back here?” Bofur asked, oblivious to the tension. “Come join the party.”

“No,” Bilbo said easily, climbing to his feet. “I think I’ll go to bed. Good night, Bofur, Thorin.” He offered them both quick nods and then made his escape outside. Once there, he let out a long sigh and bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. That had been heady. He remembered an hour ago when he’d thought that Thorin was confusing. Well, things had certainly been made clear now.

He wasn’t entirely certain why he’d run like that, except that it was all a little too much for him. When he’d set off out the door, he hadn’t thought to find a romance like the ones in the stories. But Thorin had made it obvious now that it was exactly what was going on. For a hobbit from the Shire who’d never even thought to find adventure in his lifetime, let alone something like this, it was almost overwhelming.

Tomorrow, he told himself firmly. Tomorrow, he would face Smaug and Thorin would take back his mountain and then they could figure out this thing between them.

 

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“If this is to end in fire,” Thorin snarled, face alit with feverish intensity, “then we will all burn together.”

He outlined his plan quickly, listening when the others threw in their own suggestions. Out of the entirety of the Company, only Balin had been there when Erebor had been a mighty kingdom but that didn’t keep the others from having good ideas to aid their plan.

Bilbo listened and watched them proudly, knowing that he had nothing to contribute to battle planning. These were his dwarves. They were going to take back their homeland and slay the dragon. His gaze fell on Thorin and he smiled to himself.

He had realized during Thorin’s speech that, quite without noticing it, he had gone and fallen in love with the King Under the Mountain. He was never going to love another. He wasn’t entirely certain what this would mean for Thorin’s reign. After all, it wasn’t like Bilbo could give him an heir. But he knew that he couldn’t just go back to the Shire, not when he felt like this for Thorin.

The others began to split off, leaving him alone with Thorin and Balin. Suddenly, Bilbo realized that, for all his planning of the future, there was the very real possibility that they were all going to die tonight. He thought back to the interrupted moment they’d had last night in Laketown.

“No,” he murmured. If they died tonight, he didn’t want their last moment to be a memory of Bofur interrupting them. Raising his voice, he called, “Thorin, wait!”

Thorin and Balin both paused. “Bilbo?” Thorin asked. “What is it?”

“Thorin,” Balin warned. “We can’t let the others get too far ahead. This plan requires perfect precision.”

“Bilbo?” Thorin prompted.

Bilbo thought of saying something witty or romantic but he couldn’t think of anything. So instead, he strode up to Thorin, grabbed hold of Thorin’s beard to pull his face down, lifted himself onto his toes, and kissed him. It was a little awkward, what with how Thorin was practically frozen against him, and Bilbo pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” he started to say. “I shouldn’t have-”

“No!” Thorin blurted out. “You should’ve.” His arms wrapped around Bilbo, pulling him back in. “You definitely should’ve.”

He leaned back down to kiss Bilbo again. This- _this_ was everything that Bilbo had wanted from that first kiss. Thorin was pressed warm and hard against him, his lips incessantly teasing Bilbo’s own. He drew away briefly to draw a breath. Thorin’s right hand came up to cradle his head, pulling him closer. Bilbo felt like he would drown in these soft, sweet kisses and then-

Balin cleared his throat.

Bilbo pulled away once more though Thorin’s arms still encircled him, keeping him from stepping away. “Sorry to interrupt,” Balin said, eyes twinkling. “But there is still a dragon to worry about.”

“Right,” Thorin said unsteadily. “The dragon.” He looked down at Bilbo and dropped a swift kiss on the tip of his nose, the sweet action belied by the smoldering promise in his eyes. “When this is over,” he told Bilbo firmly, “we will talk.”

 

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But they didn’t.


End file.
